"Yes sorry, sorry, yes, I'm--sorry--" Here and awake and a little discombobulated, slipping backwards into old habits. None of the pieces of this place fit together, even less so when she's groggy.

She scrambles to her feet, leaning on the pool cue like that'll make it less out of place. Finding Mr. Logan here makes her innards twist up into knots; she's missed him since they ended up separated, but she hasn't quite wanted to find him. The only guaranteed end there is him finding out her current plan, of trying to force everything extraneous out of her head until all that's left is what other people sense. And the thought of that, of Mr. Logan knowing...it leaves her with shame cutting jagged and raw through her.

"You're pardon," and she takes a breath. He's been her teacher and headmaster and very very occasionally teammate; this isn't how she wants to talk to him, like he's one more shadow to fear. "Pardon. It's another room, isn't it. Yes."

No doors, no windows. Only a mirror and a voice. The Thomas the Tank Engine sleeping bag slips off her shoulders.